


Pineapples in Champagne

by chantefable



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 1960s, 20th Century, Ambiguous Relationships, Cold War, Cooking, Espionage, Gen, Poetry, Spies & Secret Agents, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-26 02:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: Illya thinks that Solo’s cooking tastes like Vertinsky, Severyanin and Mayakovsky, all at once.





	Pineapples in Champagne

Their current assignment in Singapore places the first UNCLE team straight at the heart of a backstage power struggle between British and American intelligence, fighting for leverage in the region.

Waverly is more involved than ever and every time Illya looks at Solo he fancies that he can see the shadow of the man’s handler behind his back, that he can almost hear him breathe down the Cowboy’s neck. It is a complicated situation. The three of them are scrambling to procure meager morsels of information, and the mission is difficult enough without Solo being high-strung. With shadows under his bloodshot eyes and even more lines across his forehead, Solo looks awfully gloomy and stressed, and his usual debonair affectations become ill-fitting, like a poorly ironed suit. He almost failed to charm the wife of a trade representative at the diplomatic dinner yesterday. Awful. Gaby agrees that this simply will not do.

Then again, Gaby is British intelligence, and, their current UNCLE allegiance notwithstanding, she has other, purely professional reasons to desire that Solo would simply let it go, give up, ignore his loosely stretched long leash and not attempt to play another game while they are on assignment.

Illya does his own job in silence. He goes on solo reconnaissance trips, meets with the contact persons of the local Communist organizations, and provides valuable data. 

(He couldn’t help laughing when Gaby brought him a list that Waverly had had delivered from the British embassy – the files on all suspected local activists. Eighty percent of these people are bystanders who aren’t involved in anything. Illya is a little amazed and a little amused that the British are wasting so many resources to monitor people of no importance.

(Then Solo brought him the American list, and Illya had to mentally correct himself and congratulate the British on their prudence and thriftiness. What utter nonsense. Solo, apparently, caught something in Illya’s face because his mood turned sour immediately.)

Alone, Illya is quite happy to follow instructions. They are clear and concise, and the city is big and boisterous enough to hide in plain sight, even if one is pale and tall and blond. The city constantly explodes in smells and colors, sound and touch, and Illya catches himself thinking about fragility and tenderness. He gathers information. He feels a queer tug under his breastbone thinking about Gaby’s firm, calloused fingers wrapped around his own, and about Solo’s suppressed anxiety. In his head, Illya sings, drawling and rumbling. _V bananovo-limonnom Singapure…_

There are neither bananas nor lemons, neither magnolias nor tango awaiting them at the safe-house, and Illya cannot do justice to Vertinsky’s manner so he doesn’t sing out loud even when he is there, called back like a dog to the kennel. But the poignant mood lingers all the same. 

Illya thinks it is because of Solo. Solo, whose mouth is livid and whose shoulders are a rigid line that is uncomfortable to watch, bustles about the kitchen like a nauseatingly stereotypical bourgeois housewife who isn’t allowed to express herself in any other way. What is he making there? Pineapples in champagne?

It’s the same thing, day after day. Gaby tells Solo to get himself together, she tries being gentle with him, she tries to fight it out. Despite everything, Solo is a horrible mess, nothing but a knot of nerves. 

One evening, Solo brings a bird, something like a grouse – and Illya at first suspects it is an attempt at humor, he even quotes Mayakovsky because the moment is simply begging for it, but Solo lets it slide without a smile. Solo’s eyes are miserable as he works the tender poultry flesh with all the ruthless grace of a butcher, and Illya becomes convinced that the Cowboy simply isn’t listening to him. Like he hasn’t been listening earlier, when Gaby tried to suggest something to take the edge off, to make sure Solo isn’t obsessing and compromising the team.

By the time Illya completes the interim report for Waverly, Gaby has already returned and washed and Solo has set the table. As has become routine over the past few days, it is laden with too much food. At least they aren’t being wasteful; Gaby gives the leftovers to the street urchins, since Solo, apparently, cannot be stopped from making too much even for three adults constantly on the brink of physical exhaustion.

Solo’s face is blooming with frenetic energy as he cuts up the bird and fills Illya’s and Gaby’s plates. When Illya takes a bite, it is delightfully tasty, zesty and sharp. Both Gaby and Illya eat until they are full, slowly and methodically, enjoying the wonderful taste. 

Life around them is noisy, tumultuous and quick. When every day could be one’s last, one must enjoy everything. Unfortunately, their happy chewing does not ease Solo’s tension, but, well. 

There are no miracles.

**Author's Note:**

> Alexander Vertinsky (1889-1957) - Russian & Soviet cabaret artist and singer; the referenced song is [В бананово-лимонном Сингапуре / In banana-lemon Singapore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofPVTNr-aX0)
> 
> Igor Severyanin (1887-1941) - Russian poet of the Ego-Futurist movement; the poem referenced is Ананасы в шампанском / Pineapples in champagne
> 
> Vladimir Mayakovsky (1893-1930) - Russian Soviet poet of the Russian Futurist movement; the short poem referenced is:  
> Ешь ананасы, рябчиков жуй, / день твой последний приходит, буржуй.  
> Eat pineapples, chew on your grouse / Your last day is coming, you bourgeois louse.


End file.
